Falcon to the Moth
by Sotona
Summary: Michael's perspective, set in the cage.


We laid resigned to our fates for eons

until one night he came to me, not soft

or sweet like I remembered, defeated

by me, he was burnt around the edges

and he staggered when he walked, like a small

wounded bird, like a dove held down and seared.

I gripped my vessel's soul tightly, disturbed

by the sight hobbling towards me, pitiful.

Aggravated that he would remind me

of what I had to do all those years past

of what I was duty bound, as a son,

to do to my own brother, one I loved,

one I still love, I raise my wings to him,

cautionary, commanding him to go

back to the anchorage from which he came

and stay there with his own poor captive soul

and never dare to grace my line of sight.

He should never have come here, now I fear

that we might fight again, but looking down

on his tender form I'm filled with mercy

and regret. I'm flooded with the desire

to seek forgiveness for striking him down.

These are emotions I don't want to feel.

I would eagerly suffer ages here

seperate from him and all heaven's embrace

if I could forever avoid facing

this guilt. I'm severely conscience-stricken

even looking at him, and I don't doubt

that he feels the same pain looking at me.

So why would he be here, I ask myself,

as I widen my eyes and realize Sam

isn't with us. And it makes me wonder

if I would crawl to Lucifer, had I

no soul left to reheat my fading grace.

I contemplate how he endured so long

alone in this ice cold hole with no one.

Nostalgic for the heaven we won't see

again, I drop my threatening wingstance

and accept the last dash of hope to come.

The remaining fragment of our home, him,

be he torn or flayed, he is still lepid,

beauteous, he doesn't wilt like a rose

though he's as delightful as a whole field.

Father would have known he'd find a way, here,

he'd find a way to last it out, survive,

live until the day he could turn topside,

came and met me at the cemetery

not to fight but to plead with me to stop,

to join him, but I can never do this.

Not ever. Not then, certainly not now,

I'd like to think. But as he reaches out,

I'm tempted. As his thumb touches my mouth,

I'm tempted. His hand laid around my face

and I can feel the selfishness in it

there is no love in this touch, only cold

that he's passing on from himself to me

and I would be ashamed if I lied and

said I didn't openly accept it.

I take his pain as penance, and with it

his view. I begin to see what he sees,

that this fate is too cruelly inflicted,

that no one in existence deserves this.

Surely not my own brother. Lucifer

isn't blameless, though he might think he is,

but none of that warrants this kind of fate.

I bring my hand up to wrap around his.

This touch, it chills my palm as warmth slides out

to him, from me, from Adam Milligan.

Or, Winchester. I am a hypocrite,

lamenting my brother but not this soul.

I push the thought of Adam from my mind;

selfishly neither of us pity him.

I see him as fuel, and my brother

would not be caught dead weeping for a man.

He is not grieving for Sam. Curiously,

I don't see a corpse, or a twisted soul,

which leads me to a single conclusion.

I want to ask what pulled Sam from this place

but I know it does not matter at all.

What matters is that he has come to me.

Lucifer, dear brother, has come to me.

Dear lover, as I'll call him soon enough.

Venus brought light to me in the darkness,

Grateful, I thank father for this kindness,

I know this is the best he could give me,

Could I do it all again, everything

would be just the same, exactly the same.

I would not have chosen a different route,

I would strike him down again and again.

I would do what is expected of me.

Given the same opportunity, I

bet Lucifer would still choose to rebel.

It might just be the nature of the beast,

us, heaven's most terrifying weapons,

the immovable objects, ever set

in our design. Predictable programs

who are sure to follow through as we were

destined to from the very beginning.

I repine the irony, his attempt

to escape, it brought him closer to this.

But on the bright side, he's closer to me.

I've had enough of his hesitation.

I wrap my arm around his waist, surprise

is etched across his face, he's caught off guard

and I bet he expected me to strike

least not embrace his theft of my warm grace.

It's what I've wanted to do for a while.

A long while, I'm surprised he didn't know

about all of this, my guilt and my love

for him, and now that we're down here, we're free

from the demands of an absent father.

I pull Lucifer closer to the warmth

and I think I feel a tinge of worry,

he's confused, as if to ask, who are you

and what have you done with my brother, I

grin before he says it, because I know

what he's thinking. We have not said a word

this whole time. We know each other too well.

I feel very complete in this moment.

He marks my delight and begins to fear

maybe that he too will submit to it

or maybe that I've already succumbed.

I can't tell the cause, but the fear is there.

It's so potent and this might sound morbid

but I revel in it, his ounce of fear.

I feel him hesitate, considering

ripping away from me, but then remains.

I send a slightly troubled expression

and a head tilt, am I all that different?

"You've never been more of a mystery,"

my grace kindles at the sound of his voice.

I want to beg him to say more, to speak

anything, all he utters drips with gold,

I want to drink his words, if he'd give them

life. He looks so peeved at my sudden lust.

I don't blame him, it really is foreign,

I barely even recognize myself,

I've never acted like this, but my thoughts?

I have always felt this way about him.

He searches deeply for my bluff, my lie

that surely must be there, somewhere, hidden,

but it isn't. This is pure, honest, love.

Love that has been suppressed under command

for so long, finally allowed to fly

laughably here in this confining cage

where we are doomed, or maybe blessed, to stay

for an unforeseeable span of time

to come. And days will come. And days will pass.

And years will come, and those will pass. And on.

My heart sinks at the thought of him trapped here,

at the thought of his songs going unheard,

his wings never again touching the sky,

as if I'm stabbed and my heart is weeping

through a bleeding chest. Oh let me bleed out.

If I want anything in this moment

it's for Lucifer to consume me whole.

I already belong to him. My grace,

it's his. My heart, his. My love, only his.

His apprehension of my behavior

shifts, and suddenly he is pleased with me.

His gratification enraptures me

and my heart keeps beating, only for him.

It pulses to the beat of this strange fate.

I have embraced our doom, our destiny.

He is slowly coming to terms with it.

He can take his time, as long as he needs,

we have plenty of time, a wry idea

I try to forget as soon as it comes

but he has already read it on me,

the cursed aura of my thought sets him back.

Momentarily, he's further from peace.

It makes me sad and I slide my hand up

from his waist to his back to his soft wings.

I stop the upward drifting of my hand

and slowly massage the space between them.

This movement draws us closer together,

he closes his eyes and presses himself

to my chest, warmed by the soul I keep locked.

It's so satisfying, watching him swoon

embraced by this generous fervent glow

from the front, and the heat that I'm easing

straight into the center crease of his back.

The sweet daze I'm sending him into,

far more divine than anything I've seen,

all this by my hand. The hand that hurt him.

I cast it from my mind before he sees.

I keep rubbing my grace into his skin

his downy feathers shiver against it,

elegance making me in turn shiver

and funnel more and more grace, my hand splayed

now instead of digging into one spot

I reach for purchase, the more the better.

My other hand reaches around as well,

beginning to stroke and run through a wing,

caressing his soft velvety plumage

as he nuzzles closer into my chest.

As I channel more and more of my grace

into his brightening form, returning

to his God given natural glory,

I can sense that he grows disappointed.

I run my body as frigid as frost

in giving everything over to him.

Deep down I know it isn't enough and

suddenly he claws deeply into me

and rips me from my vessel, taking him.

With the struggling soul in his talons

he pushes away and I let him go

without blame but only loss in my eyes

I watch him for as long as I can bear

and sing for him a silent elegy;

in omnis astra via lactea

Lucifer eratque pulcherrimus.

Stella ardeo similis Deo

sed avide volavit excelsis

(Of all the stars burning in the Heavens

he is the most radiant of them all.

Glory ablaze, to God analogous,

though eager to fly too close to the sun.)

* * *

Note: if anyone out here actually learned Latin, I'd love to know if I'm anywhere near close.

Also please tell me if I should change the rating to T.

Thank you for reading!


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